


Every Breath

by cadkitten



Category: Dir en grey
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Bloodplay, M/M, Masochism, Oral Sex, Sadism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-07
Updated: 2009-07-07
Packaged: 2017-12-04 01:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadkitten/pseuds/cadkitten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A combination of breath, the meeting of two souls, a connection built upon the most base of instincts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Breath

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt[s]: **rusty_haven** prompt #2: "Through my breathing, I could hear him, breathing, losing breath, breathing, losing breath."  
>  Comments: What happens when you booze me up, leave me up, and then sit me in front of a computer at six in the morning when I haven't yet slept? This... apparently.  
> Beta Readers: kawaiikyo, elyachan  
> Song[s]: "Choke" by Kazy

My head rests against the wall. My eyelids are shut and my breathing is steady. In... out... in... out... in... out: repetitive and decidedly calming. Every single intake of air is drawn, lengthy, filled with the necessary oxygen for life and the tinge of that smell that comes just before a good rain. Ozone. My mother, or aunt, or someone told me that once. They said it wasn't good for you to breathe it in, at least not like I am now. Not that there's really any other choice. The bus is too far away for my weak legs to carry me; the building I'm leaning against is just a structure with three walls rather than four.

A half-smile filters across my face at the knowledge that even if I could get out of this, I wouldn't. Maybe my lungs would thank me, but I can't seem to bring myself to care enough to actually move. My breath hitches and a small tinkle of laughter slips past the lush pink of my lips. There's a certain freedom found in this place, in the ringing in my ears and the ever-pounding beat of my heart. It's something I can only find just after I've left the stage, ready to collapse, my body weak with exhaustion and the fact that I gave my all while I stood before the masses.

Slowly, surely, my legs give out from under me. The weight of my body caries me to the ground, depositing me on the jagged edges of the rocks, smearing my pale, blue jeans with the dust of the earth. The hot Arizona sun beats down on my skin, bringing even more sweat to the surface, drawing it from my pores just to steal it away. The air is heavy, thick with the threat of rain, yet dryer than anywhere else I've ever been. Something hums along my nerves, the electricity in the air just before a good storm. My head lists to the side, eyelids fluttering in an attempt to let the outside back into me again.

The first drops of rain begin to fall. The pavement a few feet away from my little resting place starts to darken, one splash bleeding into the next. It's what I can focus on, the way it blends and runs, tiny rivers pouring into others, the drops getting larger and larger as the minutes pass.

A shift in focus, from pavement to fabric. The blue of my jeans is darker in some places than it is in others. It bleeds faster, with more certainty than the cement walkway. Denim drinks in the rain as if it needs it to thrive. My breath escalates with the thrum of the rain hitting the metal roof of the structure behind me. By the time I'm gasping, my hands plastered to the sides of the building, I realize that I've faded out again. Delirium. Manic laugher spills past my lips, cutting off an instant later as the full spectrum of reality returns to me.

Sometimes it's harder than others; this shift of focus, the maintaining of normalcy that seems to be required in society. There's a delicate line and I have always trod upon it, dithering one direction or the other dependent solely upon my mood at the moment. Days can go by without a single moment in which I seem anything but normal... the social definition thereof. But then that thing inside me that allows me to be who I am, to be as much as I am, to give as much as I do - it rears its head and demands to be let out. There are moments in which I don't even realize until it's too late, until someone who wasn't meant to see has seen. Those moments choke me, grasp at my throat and cut off my precious air. But just as fast as the times come, they fade away without incident.

The clouds darken the sky even further; the rain comes in torrents, drenching the earth and the occupants with the sustaining moisture. My hands move from the wall, lift to the sides of my spent body, holding and waiting, feeling and reveling. The smallest of smiles dances across my lips, hovering there as an affirmation to the fact that this... _this_ is one of those moments in which I find truth in my own words.

A shadow falls across my legs, lengthening and coming to rest across the entirety of my body. Slowly, achingly, my gaze travels over my own form, finding first dirty black boots, moving up to baggy blue jeans and then up just a bit more to a worn band t-shirt. I know who it is now without even having to fully realign myself with this portion of the world. The spell snaps, falling like a fragile, porcelain figurine to the ground where it shatters into a million pieces. "Die."

He kneels, a hand coming out to rest on my jean-clad thigh. The weight of it is that of a feather, feeling as if it could be blown away by a single faint breeze. My lips form a tiny 'o' and I blow just the faintest amount of my steady air out of my lungs and toward that hand. Rather than his fingers moving away as I had anticipated, I find myself even closer to him, his hand pressing firmly against my wet clothing; his breath next to my ear. Just above my own, I can hear his: the steady tumble of air out of his lungs, filtering back in, and then right back out again.

My head turns, our breaths mingling on the air. He's close... so very close. His hair tickles the side of my cheek, the bright crimson strands seemingly the only barrier between us. A shiver runs down my spine, heat returning to my limbs, spreading from the hand that rests so innocently against my thigh.

"Come on." The words are delicate, carefully placed, spaced between breaths in just such a manner as to not disrupt our flow, our connection. It's a tangled web we weave, a deceitful game we play... but a fragile balance we achieve.

As one, we rise; the rocks crunch beneath our feet as we move away from the place I'd chosen. He doesn't touch me again, not even a hint of contact. He's just walking beside me, his steps sure and steady, aligned with my own so as to remain neither ahead nor behind me in our movements. Rather than crimson, there's black between us now; a thin veil of his hair that doesn't ever leave the peripherals of his vision.

The shining gloss of the black bus greets my eyes, the sun slipping back out at the last minute to glint off the tinted panes of glass. My eyes screw up and we reach for the door at the same time, fingertips brushing. Electric shock shoots up my arm, tingling through my body at a rate I thought to be somewhere next to impossible. I should know by now, should have learned a long time ago, that with him, nothing is impossible.

He pulls the door open and gestures me in before him. "Hello?" My voice rings through the bus, finding it empty of any ears to catch my tentative declaration of presence. Before I can even think about the meaning of it, Die's there, his body pressed against mine, the small counter behind me digging into my lower back. I swallow hard, the steady stream of my breathing altering, cutting and rushing.

He doesn't say a word, doesn't even hesitate as he lowers his mouth to my own. Our lips crash into one another and for a moment the only noise in the entire bus is the sound of his hands expertly disrobing my smaller body. Each time is always new to me, an experience in and of itself, unique from all the past and future ones I will ever experience with him. This one is no exception, his urgency something foreign to me. In its exclusivity, it is something to cherish, to hold close and focus on.

My hands move blindly, following his example, seeking to remove the pieces of material between us. First the soaked jeans, hitting the floor with a solid sounding thump. And then the faded t-shirt, ripped up his torso, our lips losing their grip on one another when I tear the article of clothing over his head to toss it toward one of the seats inside our steel sanctuary.

For the first time in as long as I can remember, his fingertips find the wounds I've inflicted upon myself, the blood that runs down my chest. His nails find and pull at the slices I've left behind with my own, furthering the high I created there and using it for our benefit. My head falls back, a breathless gasp echoing from the walls as my body shudders against his.

The cold from the rain fades quickly, our bodies sharing and creating warmth where there had only been damp skin and tingling nerve endings. His mouth descends on my neck, sucking just gently enough to ensure he's not leaving any permanent mark that can't be blamed on something else. The descent to his knees is slower than I had expected, the urgency of his hands having told me just how much he needs this... needs me.

Fingertips dance over my sides, fresh blood and old mixing, slicking over unmarred flesh as he first finds one nipple, then the other. By the time his mouth closes over my cock, I'm achingly hard. All the blood in my body has moved south, pooled in my groin, throbbing there in an attempt to gain both of our attentions. My hips flex and his tongue flicks over the underside, finding my most sensitive areas with ease.

Another gasp rends the air and at that very moment a slick finger probes me, sliding in deep with fast, but careful movements. My fingers tighten on the counter, the cheap material creaking under the strain I'm putting it through. The next breathless gasp I let out changes into a soft laugh, a sound produced from a whole new delirium. The world is hazy, filled with fuzzy pictures of what it should be. The pleasure tingling along my nerve endings is about all my exhausted body can take, creating distorted pictures of the truth to form before my eyes.

It isn't long before he slips back to his feet, reaching to support me, drawing one leg up over his hip, leaving my jeans in a mess on the floor. Only one thing is clear in my vision: his face hovers close to my own, a smile on his lips that is reserved for only me, a sparkle in his eyes that's only ever there just before such an act is to take place. Time stands still long enough for me to take it all in, to memorize that look once more, to give it the time it needs to fully sink into the soft tissues of my memories. And then he's there, his hot length filling me to bursting, my body desperately trying to accommodate what was never intended to belong there.

His lips ghost over my earlobe, teasing at the piercings there, allowing me to hear the way his breath hitches at the slightest tilt of his hips. It's then that my hands move, releasing the countertop and finding purchase on his shoulder and in his hair. Our bodies come together, skin against skin, sweat mixing with blood and rain. The steady thump of my heart against my ribcage is surely loud enough for the world to hear, but he doesn't seem to notice, concentrating only on my needs rather than my base reactions to him.

My hips slowly arch, my ache pressing solidly against his abdomen. It's then that he truly moves, leaving me and then filling me, over and over. The urgency of earlier boils over again, showing in the way he strains, muscles pulling and breath quickening against my neck. The counter protests, squeaking out its displeasure with being used and abused in such a way. We ignore it, the movement of our encounter only rising. My own breath rends the air, harsh and needy even to my own ears.

His tongue swipes over the tattoo just behind my ear, brushing over the sweet spot only he's ever managed to find so completely. My eyes roll back in my head, a sound departing my throat that can only be described as a desperate plea for more. Teeth follow the path of tongue and lips, causing my hips to jerk, my fingers to tighten.

It's then that he loses it. That last shred of control he was clinging to - desperate to maintain and use - falls away. The beast inside him rears its beautiful head, giving me all that I want, all that I feed upon. The way he moves inside me is less calculated, more erratic. The sound of his breathing no longer holds any piece of control, falling apart at the seams, shattered by the aching moans he fills the air around us with.

I move in time with him, using my own body to further the feelings he's finding. Together we build what only we have ever seemed to be able to, stacking the blocks in all the right places, filling in all the holes with the lightest of touches, the most tender of caresses.

When it hits me, it comes out of nowhere, ripping my focus in half and shredding the air with my screams. Warmth floods between us, my length twitching with the gravity of the ending placed upon me. My body trembles, shuddering and gasping, hands desperately clutching at the strong body that still labors against me. He's faster, more urgent; his thrusts shorter and more driven toward a point... a need. I know the instant he begins to find it, the way his muscles tighten just the slightest, urging him on despite the intensity of what he's doing, the way his breathing hitches and then gasps inward with a sort of desperation. The hand on my hip curls tight, painfully so, and then his heat fills me, the throb of him deep inside me a feeling I will never forget.

Slowly the tension slips from his body, leaving him the man I knew before. Our breathing slows, evens out and combines in a rhythm I know we'll keep for the rest of the night. The hand I had in his hair slips down the side of his face, tracing his cheekbones and then traveling the length of his jaw. Two fingers catch him just enough for me to hold him in place, my lips meeting his own, gentle, caressing, a declaration of sorts.

When he pulls away, there's a gentle smile on those perfect lips, curving them in all the right ways. My eyelids slip shut, leaving that as my afterimage, the one thing I'll find haunting my dreams until he comes to me again. The sounds of him moving around greet my ears, providing me knowledge that he's changing into something dry from his bag, removing the wet items from his pockets and leaving the mess of rain-drenched clothing in a corner somewhere. My canvas shoes get removed from my feet and then warm, dry material touches my legs. The boxer briefs he's provided me with are my own, the size and feel of them familiar and comforting.

Finally my legs start to give out again, trying to carry me to the ground once more. But his arms are there, supporting me, moving me and finding me safe in a chair. My thoughts swirl around me, consuming me once again, so much so that even the touch of a warm cloth over my body brings me no direct knowledge of the event.

My breath comes in, goes out, and then comes right back in. Renewed... fresh... used... expelled. Just above the sound of my own breathing, I can hear the sound of my lover's. In... out... in... out... in... out: repetitive and decidedly calming.

**The End**  



End file.
